


Marked and Messy

by WriteSmart



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Falling In Love, First Kiss, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, The trials and tribulations of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29206770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriteSmart/pseuds/WriteSmart
Summary: Nate’s been collecting marks and scars for as long as he can remember. Apparently his soulmate is either stupidly clumsy or extraordinarily adventurous.
Relationships: Brad Colbert/Nate Fick, John Christeson/Evan Stafford, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Pappy Patrick/Rudy Reyes
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	Marked and Messy

Nate’s been collecting marks and scars for as long as he can remember. Apparently his soulmate is either stupidly clumsy or extraordinarily adventurous. When he’s a kid, it’s a lot of the typical bruises and skinned knees that come with romping through the woods, but as he grows, they start to get worse: bruised knuckles from fighting, a dislocated shoulder, and a huge gash that runs up his leg that his mom nearly took him to the hospital for. Every time a new, brilliant red blemish blooms across Nate’s skin, he tries to imagine the person that could match these marks. 

It’s not like Nate is totally innocent though in this trading of permanent marks. He repays the favor of generic bruises and ripped up knees and elbows, but he also gives his soulmate a beautiful cleat mark that scars from a vicious game of soccer, and embarrassingly a pretty bad burn on his forearm from where he dropped a tray of freshly baked cookies when taking them out of them oven. 

Sue him, Nate likes to bake. 

When he joins the marines, Nate expects to be the one doing most of the damage to him and his soulmate, but for each scar and mark Nate gives, he gets one in return. The fucking broken ankle is the worst of the bunch. The snapping pain almost makes Nate throw up during PT, and then it never fucking heals. If he finds his soulmate he’s going to wring his fucking neck for it. 

Sometimes, when Nate is still young and overly idealistic thinks he’ll be the one to make a difference in this place. But then bad days mount up higher and higher, and he lays awake at night and traces over each mark and scar to calm down. It becomes impossible to ignore the fact that the injuries Nate gets are so closely mirrored by those his soulmate gives. He’s not sure what he’ll do if his soulmate is enlisted as well, but the tiny chance that they might run into each other sends a thrill through Nate. He hopes he’s not a part of fucking command. 

But then, Nate becomes a lieutenant and realizes that the US military is a soul sucking void that he cannot escape. He loses that spark, that drive, and ends up stuck in a burning hot desert in a war that shouldn’t be happening and can’t find the energy to even consider the thought of a soulmate. 

-

Kuwait is hot. It’s fucking stupid, but it’s all Nate can think. He’s a fucking New England kid, born and bred in four seasons, one of them being freezing. This heat is nothing like Nate has ever experienced. It sucks the moisture right out of you, and the sun is oppressive in the way it beats down on the men. 

Nate and all company included have been trying to escape the heat in any way possible all day. He gratefully joins Mike in the shade of the humvee, and watches the chaos of the rest of the boys trying to cool down. 

He laughs at the antics of Ray who runs around with water jugs and surprises any unfortunate unsuspecting marines with “a gift.” Ray doesn’t surprise Brad, but he still dumps an entire bottle of water on Brad who growls at Ray and lunges at him. It devolves into a scuffle that Brad wins handily, and after Brad gives Ray a dressing down that Ray laughs through, he pulls off his soaking wet shirt to let it dry. 

It gets increasingly hotter for Nate after that. 

As Nate tosses and turns in his cot later that night trying to get a lick of sleep before stepping off, he notices a bruise on his thigh. It looks like his soulmate took a hard hit with an elbow or something. As he traces his fingers around the mark, for the first time in awhile, Nate wonders what his soulmate could be up to right at this moment. 

-

While in Iraq, Nate seems to oscillate between wanting to beat his head against the wall and scream in righteous fury and being a hollowed out shell that repeats orders to his men like a robot handcrafted by command. 

It’s horrible. It’s demeaning. It’s tearing Nate apart. 

Mike tries to help shoulder as much of the burden as he can, but there is so much shit flowing down hill that Nate still feels bowled over by it everyday. 

He tries to do the little things to help his men, to make a difference, though everyday. 

Finding lube for Brad’s team is the easiest decision he makes in country. It’s scary that Nate finds himself doing anything to make Brad smile at him. So when he leans too far into Brad’s humvee and hands over the LSA, he can’t help but beam back at Brad whose mouth curves into that slow dangerous smile. 

“Present for you,” Nate says trying to be cheeky and sly, but probably missing by a mile, “scammed some off of RCT one,” It’s a pretty harmless lie. Nate actually did far more groveling than scamming, but Brad does not need to know that. 

“Not to be homoerotic sir, but I could kiss you right now,” he drawls to Nate. 

Nate nods at that. God, if only. 

-

The biggest lesson Nate learns in Iraq is that he does not have it in him to do this much longer. If he becomes hard enough to be able to watch children bleed out because of a choice he made, he will never recover. This god forsaken idiotic war takes more from him than he has to give. He’ll see these Shepherd boys behind his eyes for the rest of his life. He’ll see the legless girl and the road weary people they sent back to die at the hands of death squads. 

They’re fucking this all up. Nate has never felt more hopeless than that night he spends standing on an Iraqi airfield and staring up into the hopeless abyss of the night sky. 

Mike finally comes and finds him late in the night. He sighs when he sees the state of him. 

“Go to sleep, Nate,” he tells him. “I can watch the boys for a night.”

Nate let’s him guide him back towards where Mike had just been resting. He lays down, but sleep as always is elusive. In the full moonlight Nate just now realizes that his soulmate had apparently bitten one of his fingernails so far down that it cut through skin. He wonders what could be causing them so much fucking anxiety. 

The next morning, he stares at Brad under that fucking humvee, and listens to the growing unease of the men as the hours tick by and he doesn’t emerge. They need Brad. Nate needs Brad. 

Ray is the one who finally comes to find Nate. 

“Sir,” he says uncharacteristically quiet, “I think the Iceman needs to be thawed out if you know what I’m saying.”

“Ray I never know what you're saying.”

“Ok it’s like this. Brad’s our dad right? Disappointed in everyone, but the young ones are still trying to impress him yeah? And you're the mom because you take care of us and shit, ok? So you gotta get under that fucking humvee and pull dad out by the goddamn collar before we all fall apart.”

Nate just stares at Ray in disbelief, he can’t believe he just said that to him. Mike, the bastard, fucking laughs at his speechlessness. 

“Ray,” Nate begins, and then trails off. “Ray, I can’t make Brad do anything, you know that.”

“Sir you are the only one who could make Brad do anything.”

The honesty in Ray’s eyes sends an inappropriate thrill of excitement through Nate. The acknowledgement of his and Brad’s relationship makes Nate feel sane again. He isn’t making up their closeness apparently. Isn’t making up the way they seek each other out, the bond they have together. 

But Nate can’t go to Brad right now. Can’t crawl under a humvee with one of the men he’s supposed to be in charge of in front of the whole company. God though, part of the reason he can’t go under there to get Brad out is he knows one look from Brad would convince Nate to stay under there, and they could wait out this war from their supposed safety, curled up with each other. But that would leave the company without mom and dad apparently. 

Later in the day, marks from what look blisters appear on Nate’s hands too. It makes him think of how raw Brad’s hands must be, skin rubbed off from using that hammer all day. 

-

It takes him a while to notice, but Nate seems to be unconsciously seeking Brad out. He watches a hamlet get blown up because they have no comms with an out of control trigger-happy company, and that night after making his rounds, he joins Brad in silence, sitting just a bit removed from the group. He receives fucked up commands from Fernando or Encino Man (he definitely won’t be admitting to his men he uses their nicknames) and he finds himself talking history with Brad leaning up against one of their humvees until he’s calmed down enough to not immediately throttle his superiors. 

It’s completely unprofessional this relationship they have, but Nate can’t leave it. He’s barely holding on as it is, and to let go of Brad would be to cut his strings. 

The worst part though is that deep down, Nate knows that this is definitely not just to friends leaning on each other for support. Well for Brad it probably is. But for Nate, for Nate it verges on obsession. 

While Brad’s so carefully stripping his gun and cleaning it, Nate can not tear his eyes away from the way his deft fingers dance across each part. When Brad strips off his shirt to play fight with Rudy, Nate gets distracted by the breadth and strength of Brad’s shoulders. 

When Brad finds Nate and tells him so achingly honestly that “sir your leadership is the only thing I have absolute confidence in,” he nearly falls apart on the spot. 

It makes him feel almost guilty. There’s a soulmate for Nate somewhere out there in the world who is going to have to compete against Brad fucking Colbert for Nate’s attention. He almost pities the bastard. 

-

It doesn’t take long for the nerves and the newness of combat to fade. In Nate, that emptiness and the extra time he has now that he isn’t constantly overwhelmed with anxiety is replaced with anger. 

More often than not, it is anger directed at command, and it puts Nate in trouble. 

Nate’s always been an overly indignant and overprotective person, and that seems to be the only parts of him not snuffed out in the rut of war. It might even be exacerbated when he’s running on 36 hours of no sleep. 

They’re good traits to have in satisfying his goal of getting all of his men out of alive. They’re bad traits to have if Nate plans on not getting NJPed. 

They are ultimately the reason that he ends up staring down Captain Schwetje and ignoring the way Gunnery Sergeant Griego is screaming at him for being out of order. Nate’s been toeing the line of command daily out here in this desert, but this current move is fucking triple jumping over the line. It’s going to get him in trouble. Neither of these men is going to forget this scene Nate’s causing, especially since there’s an audience. 

But he can’t back down now. He has a hand on Schwetje, physically keeping him from issuing any ill conceived orders (might as well go full force in to breaking the chain of command), and the other is digging into his palm trying to ground Nate from doing something too stupid. 

“I’m just trying to pass on to you accurate information sir,” Nate says, trying to keep his voice level. 

Schwetje just stares at him. This fucking overly concussed football playing frat bro lunk. He’s going to get them all killed. 

“What are your orders sir?” Nate asks again. He’s glaring at him like he can convince Schwetje to make the right choice for once in his goddamn life. 

But then, Schwetje jerks himself out of Nate’s hold and attempts to call in the fire mission. Nate leaves. He knows what battles to fight. 

“But sir,” Doc Bryan calls after him, “what about the fire missions.”

Nate shakes his head. “There won’t be a fire mission. He’s using the wrong codes.”

All Doc Bryan can do is laugh in amazement. “For once our asses are saved by sheer incompetence.”

It would be unprofessional for Nate to verbally agree to that sentiment, but he can’t stop himself from nodding along. That silent support though settles Doc. There’s been a bit of push and pull between them, with Doc so reasonably untrustworthy with command and Nate walking the line between following orders and denying them for his men. 

When Nate lays down in his grave later listening to the lullaby of mortars and gunfire he notices he had cut his palm open where his nails had bit into the soft skin of his palm. He rubs at the stinging wound a little and says a silent apology to his soulmate for that one. It’s amazing though that with such fuck ups for leaders he doesn’t have anything worse to mark up some poor person tied irrevocably to Nate. 

-

Eventually though, the idiocy of command catches up with Nate, and he can’t protect his men from it anymore. 

“Frankly gentlemen I’m just not hearing the aggressiveness I want to hear.” Nate nearly throws up from saying it. It’s everything he’s trying not to be. 

The worst part about it is that Brad looks so fucking disappointed in him. 

“We can take it from here sir,” he says, dismissive and removed. Fuck. 

Without Brad’s support Nate feels unbalanced going into the bridge mission. Mike seems to notice that he’s out of sorts and keeps a steadying hand on him the whole time until they set off. Thankfully the boys in the back don’t notice. 

It’s too quiet on the drive. The anticipation of an attack is nearly stifling. When Ray's voice cuts through on the comms it almost makes Nate jump. Almost. He is a recon marine after all. 

“There’s something blocking the bridge, over,” Ray relays. 

Nate sighs. Of course something is blocking it. Of fucking course they didn’t have time to scout this. For just a second Nate thinks that they might be able to egress safely out of this clusterfuck when Brad’s voice bone chillingly rumbles over the comms. 

“There’s men out there.”

And then the shooting starts. 

The chaos that unveils in the next five minutes is not the usual controlled pandemonium that Nate can reel in. Ray’s still screaming at Espera’s vehicle to turn around, Pappy breaks through on the comms to announce they have a man down, and he hears Q-Tip groan in pain behind him. It’s falling apart. It’s fucking falling apart. They’re going to die trapped on this fucking bridge. 

Nate knows what he has to do. 

“Stay here and get ready to turn around,” Nate shouts over to Mike. 

“Nate!” Mike yells, but to no avail. Nate’s made up his mind. 

He crouches low as he moves between each vehicle. The news that he’s out and on foot reaches the men quickly, and they are ready for him each time he pops up next to their windows. By the time he reaches Brad’s vehicle, he’s sure of two things: everyone’s safe, and they will get out of this. 

It’s then that a sharp pain explodes through Nate’s upper arm. The surprise of it disorients him for a second, but he’s quickly able to categorize the injury. It’s a graze. Nasty, but not anywhere near fatal. He makes it back to Mike who looks like he’s going to thrum out of his skin with worry without taking any more hits. 

-

The wound on his arm turns out to be completely superficial. Nate is both thankful and deep, deep down, in a shameful part of his psyche, disappointed. It would’ve been nice to leave in relatively one piece. 

Nate has a cloth wrapped around his arm when he makes his way over to where Pappy is waiting for a medevac. Rudy is biting his lip with worry for him and clearly in pain. He’s favoring his right foot, the foot Pappy wasn’t shot in. Nate doesn’t comment on that. Soulmate wounds are not true injuries, but when your soulmate is first hurt they burn like hell. Rudy will physically be fine. But as Pappy is driven away to get airlifted out with Rudy looking on wide eyed and scared for him, Nate can’t help but worry for him mentally. In one night Rudy lost not only his team leader, but his soulmate too. 

Nate does not envy him. 

He leaves Rudy to wallow for a minute. He can allow him this brief moment of mourning and walks over to Doc Bryan and Q-Tip. 

“If he’s combat ineffective I don’t want to even hear it,” Nate says before anyone can protest. 

But Doc Bryan gives Q-Tip the ok and Nate also pretends not to see the way Christeson nearly deflates with relief. He will also not be addressing whatever is happening with that situation. 

After checking on the two confirmed injuries, Nate has one more person to visit. Brad doesn’t need anyone to check in on him, but Nate has to do it for his own sanity. He won’t be able to rest until he can see Brad’s ok with his own two eyes. It’s fucked up but at this point screw it. So is everything else. 

Nate doesn’t have to go far though to find Brad because Brad has apparently been looking for him. 

“Just wanted to check up on you after that batshit Superman stunt sir,” Brad says like he’s joking with Nate and above the worry, but Nate can see how tense he is, how hard his eyes are. 

“I’m fine Brad,” Nate says, “I was just—“

Nate cuts off, finding his eyes drawn to Brad’s arm where a soulmark has bloomed across it, right where Nate’s own arm is bandaged. 

“Brad,” he whispers, his throat suddenly dry. 

Brad too zeroes in on Nate’s arm drawing the exact same conclusion. 

“Well sir, seems we have a bit of a situation,” he says his mouth curving into a smile. “But for the record,” he continues, “I’m glad it’s you.”

And what else can Nate do after that except kiss him. There pulled behind a berm, and far enough away from the group who’s distracted with the grief of losing a man that they can get away with it. Nate pours all his frustrations with this war, his anger with command, and his absolute love for Brad into the kiss. And Brad responds just as passionately. 

They both come alive in the moment, mapping each other out with their hands and their tongues, learning each other’s bodies. Nate wishes they could just vanish right now into the night to finish this moment, but Brad, ever the sensible one, pulls away and rests his head against Nate’s. 

“Fuck Nate,” he growls, “I was so fucking worried tonight.”

“You know I had to,” Nate responds. 

“I know. Fuck I know. Gonna make this whole disaster a hell of a lot harder now that all I’ll be doing is worrying about you.”

It should not make Nate childishly giddy to hear that Brad worries and will worry about him, but he’s not a perfect person. “If it makes you feel any better it’ll be the same hell for me,” he tells Brad honestly. 

They stand together in silence for a minute just drinking in each other’s presence, and then Brad asks, “what the fuck did you do to your forearm?”

“I dropped a hot baking sheet on it,” Nate says, “don’t laugh,” he adds, instinctually knowing what’s coming. 

“I would never sir,” Brad says too serious to be anything but mocking. 

“Yeah well you're the one that kept me suffering for weeks on an unhealed ankle you bastard.”

Brad actually looks chagrined at that. “Had to climb that mountain sir. You know how I am.”

And yeah, Nate knows how he is. Knows he’s stubborn and determined and smart and overprotective and everything Nate likes. 

When they finally return to the rest of the group Ray is the only one who knows something's up. Nate and Brad might be able to do the mind reading thing that they get ribbed for, but whatever relationship Ray and Brad have, nothing gets passed either of them. 

He doesn’t make a big deal of it though, knows enough not to make a scene about it in front of others. But later, when Nate’s alone, Ray waltzes up to him and snarks, “I see mom and dad finally figured their shit out.”

“Fuck you Ray,” Nate says, but Ray just laughs at him. 

Mike seems to figure it out too, and gives Nate a nod of support. “He’s a good match,” Mike tells him, and Nate feels calmer by Mike’s approval. 

-

They aren’t able to do much in country in terms of solidifying a new relationship. They try to steal moments together, but the places they can get away with any sort of touching are few and far between. They risk it a few times. After Nate verbally berates Griego in front of the men, Brad finds him and drags him out a little ways into the desert and curls up around him until Nate can settle. 

When they get to the cigarette factory there’s more moments of calm. It’s nice, but it also makes Nate worry about stupid shit. 

He finally can’t help but ask Brad one night when they’re sitting on a roof together watching the night sky light up from flares and explosions, “what will we do when we get home?”

Brad looks at him like an idiot. “Guess I’ll have to get used to living in fucking freezing Boston weather in that liberal hippie piece of shit city on leave.”

“Yeah?” Nate asks. 

“Nate what the fuck do you think will happen? I’m not gonna fucking let you go after this. I’ll need to kick your ass the next time you fuck up some part of my body with baking fails.”

Nate laughs too hard in relief. “I’ll try to avoid tainting the Iceman with cooking experiments.”

Brad doesn’t let him dance out of this moment with a joke though. He seems to know why Nate’s worried. 

“We’ll be ok,” Brad says seriously. “We’ll be ok. This is real. What we have is real.”

Nate nods and leans into him after that, and Brad drops a kiss to the top of his head. They’ll be road bumps of course and the fact of life of having to live with Brad getting deployed for the rest of his life, but they’ll figure it out. They’ll figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> My first Gen Kill fic! Hope y'all liked it and if you leave a comment I will love you forever!


End file.
